


Wait on the Sun

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [12]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Spree Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-14 21:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11216409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Madame Locksley is used to her Aurors, both magic and not, winning; used to them bringing everyone home alive.  But, as every Team One member knows, sometimes that’s just not possible.  Sometimes, not even magic can save everyone.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the twelfth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows “A Better Plan”.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

Silence rang so loudly it was oppressive in its grief, its disbelief, its horror. The building, long abandoned, made the only sound, a creaking and crackling that came from a door that hung in midair, the steps to it long decayed; the wind coming through the walls pushed it to and fro. Outside, rain fell in sheets, as if the sky itself had known what was to come.

The woman that had just arrived simply stared, caught by utter horror. In the middle of the room, several bodies lay, on their backs and cuffed. Blood pooled around them, marked with boot treads. That same blood adorned pant legs, gloves, and hands, but went largely unremarked. No, the lion’s share of attention was focused on one last form near the back wall, respectfully shrouded and still in the terrible silence. The senselessness of it all nearly drove the woman to her knees.

“Why?” she whispered, too soft to hear. Then she whirled upon the black and gray clothed Aurors nearby. “You were supposed to prevent this!”

The Aurors cringed at her fury, did not argue, did not refute it. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” one of them said.

“Sorry doesn’t bring him back,” she snapped.

Around the two, the rest of the speaker’s teammates stood, heads bowed with equal grief. One: tall, blue-eyed, and lean, spoke up. “He knew the risks, ma’am. We all do. We all know every call could be our last. We accept that risk every time we get a call. Don’t blame us or him; blame _them_ ,” he jerked his head toward the cuffed bodies as he finished.

“Go,” the woman said softly, giving no indication that she had heard the tall man’s statement, turned back toward the shrouded figure. “Just go.” She walked slowly to the fallen man’s side, tears glinting in her eyes, ignoring the bootsteps as those in the room heeded her wish to be alone. She knelt, drawing back the sheet to look at her fallen Auror. Then she bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” were the only words to be heard for some time.

In the background, lightning flashed, thunder booming; rain fell ever more heavily. And a black figure screeched its fury.


	2. Business as Usual

_7 hours earlier_

In the Strategic Response Unit’s headquarters, things were normal, slower than usual, but normal. A relief for Kevin Wordsworth, who was still recovering from several cracked ribs acquired in the escort job of two weeks earlier. He had finally been cleared to start doing his workouts again, an even bigger relief after helping Sarge with all that paperwork. He did not envy his boss, or his best friend for that matter, their lofty positions. Lofty meant paperwork and far too much of it. In the workout room, he opted for the treadmill rather than the weight machines. Better to start slow and keep his sore ribs from complaining too much.

A room over in the briefing room, Greg Parker was working on that bane of many the world over. Paperwork. It had been a nice break for him to have Wordy helping with the mountains of white paper. There was always more; sometimes he felt that paperwork was all the evidence the theory of spontaneous creation needed. Not to mention that as long as Wordy had been present, the team in general and Ed in particular hadn’t been able to hover; Wordy’d mistaken it for hovering over _him_ and kicked them out.

Now, though, Greg didn’t have to turn or look up to know that Eddie was standing in the doorway, watching him. From farther away, he could sense Jules and Sam also looking toward the briefing room. Pretending he was frowning at his paperwork, he attempted, once again, to tone ‘down’ the sense of where his team was and what they were doing. Off duty, he usually managed to avoid _knowing_ about his team, but on, it was proving nearly impossible to control. Same with his hearing; _that_ spiked at least once a day, regardless of whether he was on duty or not. He hadn’t told anyone, not even the kids, but if he couldn’t get a grip, he’d have to. Living like this forever wasn’t possible.

“Something you need, Ed?” Greg finally asked, doing a decent job of pretending he’d just now noticed Ed’s presence.

Again, he could practically _feel_ Ed’s indecision. But he could also see it in Ed’s body language, so it wasn’t quite as much of a concern to him. “Something going on with you, Greg?” Ed inquired, sounding like a friend offering an ear and a shoulder to lean on.

Much as Greg wanted to just spill it out, he couldn’t. Not yet…and not to Eddie; Eddie was liable to hit the roof. So he replied, “Nothing I can’t handle, Ed,” and gave his friend a smile of thanks.

Despite the concern all but rolling off the Team Leader, he nodded. “Okay, Boss. If you need to talk, though…”

“I know where to find you,” Greg reassured the other man, his smile growing wider. As Ed headed back to the workout room, Greg returned to the multiplying paperwork, smile vanishing. Was it just him, or was there even _more_ paperwork now than there had been a second ago?

* * * * *

Auror Wilkins smothered a yawn as he sat down at his desk, a cup of tea and a deli sandwich floating in the air beside him. He’d been on shift for close to thirty-six hours thanks to a ruckus two shopkeeps had kicked up; each accusing the other of stealing valuable merchandise and vandalizing their stores. Ironically, it had been their house elves, taking the ongoing rivalry much too seriously. He’d caught both elves red-handed and fighting with each other. He had finally, finally finished the paperwork for the entire episode and now he was trying to stay awake long enough to have something to eat and floo home.

His parents were arriving in – he checked his watch – four hours and he wanted to have his apartment ready for them. Or maybe he’d sleep most of those four hours, he needed the sleep. Especially since his father, the exalted Lord Wilkins, was less than pleased with his son’s sudden ‘fascination’ with _Muggles_ and was demanding an accounting of why his son would actually _voluntarily_ work with ‘the creatures’.

The Auror sighed as he finished his tea, running a hand through his silvered hair. One would think that a man in his early fifties was entitled to make his own decisions and have his own opinions. But, as he’d never married, never settled down, and was the baby of the family, his parents were still very much involved in his life. Perhaps, he mused, he could persuade Madame Locksley to let him show his father the ‘Proving Ground’ file? It was mandatory reading for any new Auror foolish enough to insult the techies; though never to their faces. The story of Madame Locksley threatening Harry Potter himself in defense of her techie Aurors was now division legend; _everyone_ knew about it.

With that happy thought and tentative plan, Auror Wilkins hauled himself up to head home. _Thank Merlin._

* * * * *

A marmot Patronus burst into main office for the Auror Division, drawing instant attention. It drew itself up as an on-duty Senior Auror approached. “We’ve got a Dark Wizard on the loose in the West quadrant,” the Patronus reported. “Maybe more; there’s a shopkeeper down and the customers are saying they saw a whole group of wizards heading east.”

Instant pandemonium; wizards started rushing in all directions, gathering up cloaks and checking wands before deploying. Four Aurors apparated to the reporting Auror’s location; they would investigate the scene and report back. Those Aurors about to head home were re-tasked and largely assigned to keep the home fires burning. One was not; he was detained in Madame Locksley’s office to be dispatched to the SRU if necessary. He begged, and was granted, the use of Locksley’s cot until that time.

* * * * *

Auror Simmons growled under his breath, kneeling over the body of yet another shopkeep. The customers had hidden, but, as with the others, the dead witch had been in the open and an easy target. Especially since the Dark Wizards weren’t even shouting any warnings, just hurling Killing Curses. Nearby, the family of the poor witch was sobbing, a scene Simmons had seen far too many times today. He was a good pureblood, loyal to his people and disdainful of anything that smacked of the Muggle world, but now, with five dead and more sure to come if they couldn’t catch these Dark Wizards soon…time and past to change the rules.

He summoned his Patronus, a small sparrow, and sent it off with his request. Then he grimaced; he was going to have to grovel to Brian when this was over.

* * * * *

Brian’s head came up as Simmons’ Patronus entered. He’d gotten a little sleep, but not much. The sparrow landed on Locksley’s desk. From the tiny creature, Simmons’ voice emerged. “Five dead so far, Madame Locksley. I recommend calling in the Muggles before we catch number six. We need help; not a clue to who these blights on magic are so far. Seem to be targets of opportunity; no threats from this scum, just Killing Curses.”

The Auror was scrambling up even as Locksley rose. “Get to the SRU, ma’am,” he called, anticipating her orders.

Before he could leave, another Patronus arrived, this one a sleek river otter. “Dark Wizards spotted in Midtown! They’re on the Muggle side, killing as they go. We need Obliviators on the double; four Muggles are down so far!”

“Go!” Locksley ordered. Brian sprinted out of the office, his exhaustion pushed aside for now. They needed backup.

* * * * *

“Team One; hot call,” Kira yelled, hitting the alarm. “Mobile shooters in Midtown, four casualties so far.”

“Kira, any details?” Ed demanded, arriving on the run.

“Not many, sir,” Kira apologized, “Multiple 911 calls from the area; the only consistent report so far is that the subjects appear to be on foot. One witness is claiming they have guns; another claims they have sticks for weapons. Other witnesses claim the subjects called them ‘Muggles’. ” She failed to note the alarmed looks on Ed and Sarge’s faces as they took this in.

“Boss,” Ed remarked grimly.

Sarge’s phone was in hand, a call already in progress. “Special gear, Eddie; make sure everyone’s armored up and ready in five.”

“Copy that,” Ed agreed, racing off even as Sarge spoke.

Kira watched, wide-eyed, as whoever Sarge was calling picked up. “Inspector Wilkins,” Sarge greeted, calm and collected. Inspector Wilkins was not so calm; Kira could hear his voice from behind her desk. Sarge listened a moment, then raised his free hand in a calming gesture as he said, “Easy, Inspector, we’re on our way.” He listened a moment longer, nodding thoughtfully. “All right, we’ll meet you at the main Toronto gateway. Have your people start mapping out the victims so far, we need to figure out where they’ve been, where they’re likely to go.” Still talking, Sarge walked away.

The dispatcher shivered, a feeling of foreboding sweeping over her. She never noticed a dark figure watching, its eyes gleaming, its talons raking together in anticipation.


	3. Spree Killing

“We’ve got a group of dark wizards on the loose; killing as they go,” Greg informed his team as their trucks wailed and blared toward the Toronto gateway. “Essentially, we have a group of spree killers with no limits as to where they can go, who they can kill, or how. Auror Wilkins reports that all of the magic-side victims thus far were killed with the Killing Curse, but at least one tech-side killing was with a Cutting Curse; victim bled out before help arrived.”

“They’re on both sides?” Wordy asked, worried.

Understanding Wordy’s concern, Greg elaborated, “One group; they started magic-side and went tech-side. They may stay tech-side or they may go magic-side again; no way to know right now. Wilkins should have data on the killings thus far to give us a clue on where to go next.”

“I can start checking cameras,” Spike volunteered. “If they stay tech-side, we might be able to track them that way.”

“Good idea, Spike,” Ed praised, before his voice went grim. “Team, they’ve already killed nine people, most of them with the Killing Curse. Stay alert; they won’t hesitate to use the same on us.”

The acknowledgements were just as grim as the pronouncement.

* * * * *

The leader of the small group sneered with disdain as he spotted yet another small Muggle shop. The creatures were everywhere and seemed to breed like gnomes. A wonderful, delightful idea occurred to the wizard; he smiled savagely. Waving his compatriots forward, he imparted his plan. The group approved with raucous cheers and lined up next to their leader, wands aimed.

“ _Incendio_ **(1)** _!_ ” the wizards yelled, spells flying from their wands to impact the storefront. The store exploded, flames roaring and flaring around the corner store, licking hungrily at nearby stores. Satisfied with their work, the group moved on, slipping through a nearby portal back into the magical world.

* * * * *

Brian scrambled up into the lead truck’s back passenger seat, puffing and out of breath; he’d run all the way to the Toronto Ministry’s apparition point, then apparated to each group of Aurors for the victims’ information. “They’ve hit a Muggle store,” he panted, “Blew it sky high with _Incendios_.”

In the driver’s seat, Sam Braddock uttered a soft curse; Jules craned around, her eyes hard and flinty. “Where?”

Brian, with a bit of breath back, told her the address. Even before he finished, the trucks were rolling, their sirens wailing. Once he could talk without gasping for air, he passed the parchment with the victim information to Jules. “That’s all the victims so far, except the fire,” he told her. “They look to be moving east, it’s a near straight line on the map.”

“That’s odd,” Jules mused. When Brian gave her a bewildered look, Jules explained. “With magic they could just disapparate, right?”

“Yeah…”

“So why aren’t they?” Jules asked pointedly. “I mean, if they’re going in a straight line, either they’re really, really stupid or they _want_ to be followed.”

“Not to mention that makes it easier for us techies,” Braddock put in, still focused on the road. “If they were disapparating, it’d be almost impossible for us to chase them ourselves.”

Brian nodded agreement. The techies’ raydeos might stand up to an apparition or two, but beyond that, it was iffy. Plus, they’d have to leave the rest of their equipment behind. So… “It’s a trap?” he demanded with some alarm.

“Could be,” Jules mused. “Sarge, Sam and I think the subjects might be trying to trap us.”

She pulled her radio off as she spoke, tuning it so Brian could hear as well. “I hear you, Jules. We’ll have to be careful, especially if you’re right, but we can’t let these wizards keep killing.” There was a grim pause. “Auror Wilkins, how many dead in the fire?”

Brian hung his head. “We don’t know, Sergeant Parker. The fire’s magical, so ordinary fire-fighting methods are almost useless against it. Thank Merlin they didn’t use Fiendfyre, the _Incendios_ were bad enough. We’ve called in the magical Fire Brigade, but even _with_ their help, it’ll be hours before the location is cool enough for people to enter.”

This was borne out when the trucks turned the corner and they all saw the fire ahead of them. Smoke billowed into the air, joining the low-hanging gray clouds above. The flames, which had started in a small corner drugstore, now engulfed fully half the block, raging completely out of control. The street was blocked off, forcing the trucks to stop long before they reached the latest spree kill site.

Scarlatti darted out of the passenger seat of the third truck and bolted for the Command Truck, intent on reaching his computers and beginning his search. Brian stumbled out, gaping in horror at the fire. Never, in all his years as an Auror, had he ever seen this kind of devastation, this kind of _evil_. He spotted a weary Giles Onasi nearby, the younger Auror wore a look of mute outrage under his exhaustion. Brian waved the man over, determined to mine the latest news.

“What do we know?” he demanded, unaware that he sounded just like Ed Lane in that moment.

Onasi slumped, his whole frame showing his misery. “We think six Muggles were inside when it went up; at least that’s what the Fire Brigade thinks. We evacuated the rest of the block; the Muggle fire department’s here too. At this point, our guys are letting them stay, ‘all hands on deck’ I heard one of ‘em say.”

“Any sign of the subjects?” Braddock asked from over Brian’s shoulder.

At the blank look from Onasi, Brian supplied, “The Dark Wizards.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. We think they used a little-known gateway around the corner to go back into the magical world.”

Braddock keyed his raydeo, announcing, “Boss, they might have crossed back magic-side.” After a moment, he nodded. “Spike spotted them on the traffic cams; they definitely went magic-side again.”

Though Onasi looked very curious, there was no time to answer questions. “Now what?” Brian inquired.

Braddock gave him a hard look. “Now we go after them.” With a crackle and a minor boom of thunder, it began to rain.

* * * * *

“Spike, we’re going to leave the trucks here,” Ed decided, completely on topic. “You’ll coordinate between the groups, keep the information flowing.”

“Copy,” Spike acknowledged.

“Wilkins has a friend on-scene,” Jules piped up, “He’s asking if his friend can supply Spike with magic-side reports once we leave.”

“Good thinking, Jules,” Ed praised. “Spike, make sure Wilkins introduces you before we leave.”

“Got it, Ed. I’ll do that now.”

Sarge’s voice came over the comm, calm, but wary. “Jules and Sam came up with one theory on the way over here. It’s possible the subjects are trying to draw us out.”

“Us specifically?” Wordy asked, surprised by that.

“Yeah.” That was Sam. “They’re going straight east, they’re not apparating, they’re bouncing between worlds. Going between worlds is a surefire way to get _us_ called in and the rest makes it a lot easier for us _specifically_ to follow them.”

“Screams ‘trap’ to me, Boss,” Lou remarked.

“In neon letters and a glowing sign,” Spike joked, reappearing on the comm. “Met the on-scene Auror, guys. He’s going to hand-deliver anything they pick up on these guys.”

“Any other attacks?” Wordy questioned.

There was a beat before Spike replied. “Not yet, Wordy, but according to Auror Onasi, this part of town is more warehouses than shops, at least magic-side. If they come back tech-side, they’ve got quite the assortment of places to choose from though.”

“So let’s keep ‘em magic-side,” Ed proposed.

“If we can,” Sam muttered.

“Some of us will have to stay tech-side,” Lou observed.

Wordy nodded at that; with the situation so fluid, splitting up was really the only way to go. Sarge came on so quickly that it was clear he’d already decided the groups. “Right, Lou. Eddie, you’re tech-side leader.”

“Copy.”

“Lou and Jules will back you up,” Sarge continued. “Wordy, Sam and Wilkins will join me magic-side.” There was a pause, then, “Keep your eyes open everyone. These guys have nothing to lose at this point. All of you have Scorpio if you need it; don’t take any chances. Sam, Lou, make sure you bring along shields. We don’t know if they can stop the Killing Curse, so don’t test it! But they might buy us all a second chance if it comes down to that.”

Wordy headed for the truck to pull out shields for his teammates; for the first time in a long time, he prayed. Not just a quick heat-of-the-moment prayer either, an actual prayer for his team’s safety and that they’d apprehend the subjects without deaths or injury.

In the darkness cast by the fire, talons snapped together, drawing a nails-on-a-chalkboard screech. The creature hissed; outraged at the presumption, the _arrogance_ of such a one calling for aid he did not deserve. Why, that one was not even one of the _cat’s_ simpering subjects. In that moment, it decided that if this gambit – or the next one – should fail, any future gambit it plotted would be against _that_ one. Clacking its beak, the creature withdrew, watching its prey with greedy eyes.

 

[1] Latin for ‘to set fire’


	4. Hunt on Two Fronts

In less than ten minutes, the two teams had deployed; Greg’s team heading for the portal and Ed’s team following a roughly parallel track on the tech-side. Spike, in the truck, started pulling in as many traffic cams as he could and more than a few other cameras that he shouldn’t have. On the other hand, he doubted the owners would object to him using their cameras to save lives. He stuck with cameras that were east of the current location; with so many cameras, narrowing his scope was necessary. At the same time, he was also pulling together all the information about the subjects thus far. No IDs yet, no real clues as to _why_ the subjects were on this rampage, and no concrete clues as to what they wanted. If Sam and Jules were right… Spike shuddered; he preferred to _not_ have a target on his back, thank you very much. He patched through to Kira, asking, “Anything new from those 911 calls, Kira?”

Kira didn’t respond at first, when she finally did, her voice was slow, thoughtful. “It’s really odd, Spike. Most of the callers are adamant that the subjects are using sticks for weapons; if I didn’t know better, I’d say the subjects are magic or something.”

“What about the subjects, any physical descriptions?” Spike questioned, trying to get her to move on from the ‘magic theory’. Last thing Boss needed right now was adding Kira to the magic-side SRU.

As he’d hoped, Kira snapped back to business. “Witness reports are fairly consistent, they’re Caucasian males, on foot, wearing robes of all things. Likely five subjects, you know how that goes.” Spike made an agreeing noise. “But no one’s managed to get a good look at any of these guys, Spike. Or if they have, they’re not calling in.” Her voice turned worried, “Uniforms on-scene let you know about the fire?”

“Yeah. Command Truck’s at the fire scene, team’s on foot now,” Spike confirmed. “Kira, most of the killings are moving east; what’s farther east from the fire?”

Keys clicked in the background, the dispatcher searching. With a sharp inhale, she reported, “Spike, we got more stores, but there’s also a school within half a mile of the fire, straight east.”

Not good. Spike clicked the radio over one channel, “Ed, we’ve got a school right in the subjects’ current estimated direction.”

Ed’s initial response was colorful…and explicit. Then he snapped, “Spike, have Kira call the school, get an evacuation started. Last thing we need is a giant target full of school kids.”

Spike passed Ed’s orders on, then got back to the camera views and coordinating the two field teams. Onasi came in, proffering another report, one Spike quickly skimmed. Five subjects, all right; magic-side Aurors had been able to confirm that much at least.

Kira came back on the radio, “Spike, evacuation’s in progress at the school.”

“Any guff from the school officials?” Spike queried.

“None so far, news about the shootings is already spreading; although they weren’t happy that we demanded an evacuation instead of a lockdown.”

Spike grimaced, “If they start complaining, tell them the Fire Department thinks the subjects blew that corner store without ever going inside.”

Kira gasped, understanding Spike’s point. “Copy,” she acknowledged. “I’ll make sure they don’t let anyone stay in the building.”

“Thanks, Kira,” Spike replied, grateful she didn’t question him further. He went back to checking the cameras and compiling data. Abruptly, Spike paused, a swirl of cold in the truck making him shiver. A long-buried memory stirred and he bowed his head a moment, praying those school kids would be all right and that his team would be all right too. He never noticed that the cold feeling vanished as soon as he prayed the first word.

* * * * *

With Spike handling the coordinating, Ed and his tech-side team were free to concentrate on keeping people safe. Lou was in front, keeping the shield in a ready position, though not swung completely up. Ed and Jules ran with their submachine guns in hand, also ready to swing up at a moment’s notice. The team leader kept track of nearby cover if the subjects tried an ambush. So far though, there was nothing but civilians, alarmed and excited by turns at the sight of the SRU cops jogging down the street.

“Spike, any sign of them on the cameras?”

“Nothing yet. Boss says Wilkins picked up a trail magic-side. Onasi told me if they stay on foot, no disapparating or changing direction, the next portal is less than a block from the school.”

“We’ve got to keep them magic-side then,” Ed remarked fiercely. “Where’s that portal, Spike.”

“You’re heading straight for it, Ed; according to the map, it should be off to your left once you get there.”

“Copy,” Ed began to acknowledge, when Greg’s voice came through.

“We’ve got another casualty,” Greg announced, grim, furious, and foreboding now. The trio traded worried looks, something in Greg’s voice was right on the edge; an edge Ed hadn’t heard – or dealt with – in years. Now the team leader wished he’d pressed the Boss earlier; something had been wrong ever since the escort job and no one, including him, had had the guts to force Greg to talk about it.

* * * * *

The little girl and her puppy lay in the cobbled street, close to a fairly new warehouse. When the group spotted her, no less than half a dozen hasty prayers winged skyward that she was just unconscious. Sadly, their prayers were not answered. Wilkins, still unused to SRU procedure, raced ahead before Wordy or Greg could grab him and skidded to the child’s side. As the three SRU officers drew even with their colleague, he looked up with furious sorrow.

“How could they?” he demanded, his voice raspy in its suppressed rage.

Wordy and Greg shook their heads, equally uncomprehending. Sam gazed at the little girl and flinched, she wore no shoes on her little feet. And the puppy beside her was on a lead, clearly they had been out enjoying a walk in the fresh air.

Greg hoped his sudden sharp breath was mistaken for a reaction to the poor child; Sam’s anguish slammed him like a baseball bat. Wordy’s normally solid presence was absent; the man was wrapped in a parent’s fury that _anyone_ would hurt a child. For too long of a moment, Greg’s mental balance, battered by over a week of ‘sensing’ his team, teetered on the edge. It was Lou who, without ever knowing and while half a mile away, saved the SRU Sergeant. Greg’s ‘team sense’ managed to latch onto Lou’s calm, steady reserve, letting the Sergeant recover mentally enough to keep going. Greg drew another breath, slow and deep, surveying his team, thinking hard. Also leaning on Lou long enough that he had a sort of balance back; though it was still dangerously precarious.

“Brian, is there anything you can use to track these guys?” he asked, trying to get them back on task. They _had_ to get these guys before that school Spike had reported was in danger.

Anguished eyes were lifted to the Sergeant, then determination filled the wizard’s face. He drew his wand, hissing, “ _Persequorio malum_ **(2)**,” as he waved his wand over the far too small little form. For another long moment, the wizard inspected the results, then he pushed himself upright. “This way,” he snarled, not even waiting for Sam to get ahead of him with the shield before he started running. If it hadn’t been personal before, it certainly was now. The three techies raced after him, managing to keep formation.

Right by the small child, a form stepped out of the warehouse shadows, clicking its beak in satisfaction. It looked down, unconcerned by the child’s body. Or by the nearby puppy. A mist gathered around the child, inky black and acrid. When the mist faded, the body was gone, replaced by a spectre that looked up at its master. The vulture head nodded in approval, the spectre preened as it vanished into the chilling mist. The figure clacked angrily to itself; the dead child should have been more than enough to shatter its prey. The _cat_ must have intervened, but the _cat_ would not win; of _that_ the creature was determined.

 

[2] Latin for ‘hunt evil’


	5. Cornered

The gang leader was pleased with the chaos thus far. The _Muggle_ Aurors had yet to appear, just more evidence of how unfit they were to be in the magical world. Another idea occurred to his twisted mind, but this one was…more shocking than he expected. The shock was enough to bring him up short, mere paces from the next portal into the Muggle world. His fellows halted as well, startled by his sudden stop.

“Problem, matey?” one of them asked.

The leader almost shivered, then threw his shoulders back, puffing up in importance. “Just another fine idea, gents.”

The group clamored to know; after all, the last one had been just spiffy, positively inspired. For several moments, the leader wrestled with the faint shrieks of his almost forgotten conscience. Then an evil smile twisted his lips, malice dancing in his eyes. As he explained, the malice spread to his fellows. The Muggle Aurors would regret the day they first set foot in the _wizarding_ world.

* * * * *

For the first time since the call came in, something went right for the tech-side team. They reached the portal less than a minute before a group of wizards emerged; all of the wizards looking gleeful, drunk on the suffering they’d inflicted.

The wizards and the officers found themselves less than three meters apart; both sides were caught off guard. The moment hung, both sides staring in shock. Then Jules yelled, “Strategic Response Unit! Hands in the air, weapons on the ground!”

No Killing Curses flew, but the host of _Diffindos_ **(3)**, _Reductos_ , and _Incendios_ were bad enough. Lou swung the shield up, the metal vibrating harshly at each hit. Only the _Capio_ **(4)** on the shield kept Lou from losing the shield entirely. The spellfire flew too thick for Ed or Jules to get a clear shot at the five subject wizards; they opened fire anyway. For the first time since the chase began, the subject wizards disapparated, managing to escape the gunfire without injury.

Over the comm came Greg’s sharp, “Team status, status.”

“Boss, we just found ‘em,” Ed reported. “They disapparated though. There’s definitely five subjects. Lou, Jules, any details?”

Jules shook her head. “Sorry, Ed, we just weren’t close enough to get a good description.”

Lou shook his own head, silently agreeing with Jules’ statement.

“Are you guys all right?” Greg asked anxiously.

“No harm,” Lou remarked, calm as always. The other two echoed his report. “Shield’s holding up pretty well, Sarge, but they didn’t throw any Killing Curses at us.”

“They didn’t?” Spike broke in, sounding confused.

“Nope,” Ed confirmed. “Not a one.” There was a thoughtful silence for several seconds as the entire team absorbed that.

“Something not right about that,” Wordy mused. “Why hold back against us?”

There was no time to debate it further, for Spike broke in again, alarm in his voice. “Onasi got a Patronus, guys. Subjects have just torched a warehouse magic-side. Good news, they’re past the school _if_ they stick to their previous pattern. Bad news, both teams are a quarter mile from the latest sighting.”

“Talk to us, Spike; where are we going?” Ed demanded.

“Both teams need to keep heading straight east; they might be disapparating now, but they’re sticking to that at least,” Spike informed them. “Magic-side, they’re running out of room; it’s just warehouses from here on out. Tech-side, we’ve got more stores, a nursing home, community center.”

“In other words,” Jules remarked as they headed out again, “Keep them magic-side.”

“Copy,” Spike agreed. “But if they turn north or south magic-side, it’s just as bad. Magic-side primary about three kilometers due north and Toronto’s St. Mungo’s Hospital is four, five kilometers south.”

“Any place we can run them to ground?” Wordy asked, panting just a little.

Silence hung for a minute or so, no one wanting to rush their tech guy; plus, they all needed to keep their breath for running. “Maybe…” was Spike’s final verdict. “A bit further east than where these guys are now, there’s an abandoned warehouse. If we can get an Anti-Disapparition Jinx up on that building…”

“And herd them in?” Lou jumped ahead.

“Yeah, but that means the magic-side team is going to have to get _ahead_ of these guys before they leave the latest torching…if they haven’t already.”

There was a brief rustling over the comm, a hissed consultation, then Sam came on. “Spike, get Onasi in the Command Truck and get him to figure out the Apparition coordinates for the warehouse. Wilkins can get us there, he just need the coordinates.”

“I’ve got the GPS coordinates,” Spike offered.

With a touch of apology, Sam explained, “Not sure how well GPS would translate to Apparition, Spike. Better let Onasi give Wilkins the coordinates.”

Spike nodded, then ducked out of the truck, retrieving Onasi as quickly as possible. The Auror listened to the plan, frowning thoughtfully. Then he retrieved the magic-side map Spike was using, headed back outside the truck, and sent a Patronus with the Apparition coordinates for the abandoned warehouse. Spike bit his lip, crossing his fingers.

* * * * *

The leader shook his head as the warehouse burned. The Muggles had caught them by surprise; none of them had anticipated the Muggles actually catching up at all, much less so quickly. The man’s hatred burned, darker than the acrid smoke coming from the warehouse as it finally collapsed under the flames.

Shouts drew them around; the leader sneered as he spotted the three _Muggles_ from before, angling directly for himself and his fellows. But the one whose image he had been shown was not there – the one directly responsible for getting his fellow _Muggles_ involved in the magical world. He signaled his men and they withdrew once again, heading further east. In the dying fire, a cry of dark triumph arose.

* * * * *

Ed pushed past his exhaustion; they’d been running ever since the plan was decided on. Sadly, his group had been forced to backtrack, as they’d need both teams magic-side to herd the subjects into the hastily conceived trap. Lou had to be even more tired, he’d been lugging the shield the entire time after all. But the tan-skinned officer still had his head high, his breathing as even as it could be. Ahead of them, a fire blazed, sending sparks and embers wafting on the wind. The odds of finding their subjects here was painfully slim, it had taken far too much time to get here.

“There they are,” Jules called, gesturing with her submachine gun toward the right side of the warehouse.

“Got ‘em,” Lou agreed, taking the lead; Jules and Ed dropped back a little to let him.

A group of wizards was watching the conflagration, enjoying every last moment of it. The three SRU cops angled toward the group, trying to make their presence obvious enough that the wizards would retreat east. It only took a few seconds before the wizards spotted them; once again, the wizards withdrew, heading east.

The trio exchanged weary grins at their success, but the inhuman cry from the warehouse sent chills down the backs of all three officers.

* * * * *

Brian nodded as he finished the spell. “It’ll do,” he announced, grim and determined. “Probably won’t hold for more than a few hours, but we don’t need it to.”

His colleagues nodded, looking around the long abandoned warehouse. The falling rain leaked through what was left of the roof; puddles were everywhere. But, as the group had been trekking through the rain all afternoon, they paid no attention to the additional water. The building was decrepit, falling apart at the seams. Above their heads, a door swung to and fro in the wind, the stairs that had lead up to it long decayed, with only a rusted railing and the door to mark where they had been. The rain, mixing with the dirt floor, made several spots rather muddy, but again, the men ignored that. A long forgotten shelf was against a wall, cobwebs and dust covering its surface. The wall was cracked, gaps showing in the stones and mortar.

“We should go,” Brian remarked, “We can trap them inside and…” He trailed off, staring at the door above in horror.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” a drawling, sneering voice came. The techies snapped around, looking up at the new arrivals. Braddock shifted forward, the shield in his hand providing cover. From the second floor, the five wizards leered, each dropping down into the main warehouse. The leader had a gleam in his eyes that made Brian very nervous. “Three _Muggles_ and a blood-traitor, all nice and ripe for the picking,” he declared, drawing laughter from his companions. Brian swept his wand up and the SRU aimed their weapons at the Dark Wizards.

The leader sneered again. Brian stiffened, hoping, _praying_ that backup would arrive in time. As if on cue, a crackle came from the raydeos.

“Put your wands on the ground and hands in the air,” Parker ordered, quiet and determined. “You’re surrounded; this location has Anti-Disapparition wards.”

“Maybe so,” the leader jeered, “But _you_ ain’t gonna live long enough to enjoy beatin’ us.” With that he cast _Depulso_ , sending Parker flying into a wall, away from Braddock’s protective metal shield. Braddock and Wordsworth yelled in alarm, bringing their weapons to bear.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

 

[3] Latin for ‘to split’

[4] Latin for ‘to hold’


	6. Shattered Shield

Wordy roared in fury and denial, Sam howling alongside him as the two opened fire. More gunfire came from the windows, backup had arrived. The two constables hardly noticed as they concentrated on filling their opponents with as much lead as possible. The wizards threw curses at the pair, Sam blocking every single one with his shield. The crossfire caught first one, then another wizard. Shields were thrown up by the remaining wizards; Sam might have charged if Ed hadn’t snarled an order to shield Wordy. Instead, the two focused on one wizard at a time. The leader was the last to fall, his body jerking with fire from both sides before he finally collapsed, that awful sneer still curling his lip.

When the gunfire stopped, Wordy staggered back and let gravity take over, his knees collapsing under him, his gun clattering to the ground. He and Sam didn’t even register their teammates charging into the warehouse, yelling and cuffing the five subjects. No, their entire attention was devoted to the huddled forms at the back wall. “No,” Sam whispered, still on his feet, tears already gathering in his eyes; he shook them away violently.

“Sarge,” Wordy rasped, disbelief flooding him. It couldn’t be happening, couldn’t be real. He imagined, for a moment, telling Shelley, telling the kids – losing the kids to that arrogant British wizard _again_. He shuddered, shivers wracking his body in the sudden cold, the stench of blood and decay hitting his nose.

Somehow, the brunet forced himself upright again; walked with heavy steps to the back wall. His ears buzzed, he couldn’t hear any one any more, couldn’t see anything except the tangle of black, gray, and tan. When he reached the slumped bodies, his knees gave out again. With shaking, quaking hands he reached out, not even sure what he was looking for. For several moments, Wordy hovered, hands out, but not touching. Touching would make it real, so very real.

Then a hand wrapped around Wordy’s wrist; Wordy nearly fell, he rocked back on his heels so fast. He almost scrambled back and away, but the grip on his wrist was real, firm. As was the labored panting coming from one of the men in front of him. Wordy wasn’t aware of his teammates hovering behind him, Jules sobbing into Sam’s shoulder, Lou and Ed mute with horror. Only the hand gripping his wrist and that labored breathing.

He reached with his free hand, carefully pushing the still, silent, top form away. Brown eyes blinked at the brunet, their owner looking much the worse for wear; blood from a head wound dripped down the side of his face. He had a dazed, almost blank look and his jaw was clenched in pain; the gasping worsened as Wordy stared. Without conscious thought, Wordy looked toward the figure he’d pushed off, his stomach twisting. The man’s face was lax in death, his eyes open and already glassy. But there was a smile on the dead man’s lips, as if death had somehow been a victory.

With a muffled sob, Wordy yanked the living man off the ground, his arms going around the survivor and squeezing so tightly that the man yelped in surprise. “You’re alive,” Wordy choked out, tears running down his face. The chill evaporated, the stench vanished as if it had never been. Sound came back, his teammates gasping in shock in the background.

* * * * *

The world was a painful blur, his senses on overdrive as grief, shock, and anguish slammed him from all sides, squeezing like a vice, slashing at the very core of his being. The man was hardly aware of the weight on top of him as he strained to find an anchor; something, _anything_ to keep him from going under. Footsteps echoed, sounding like thunder; a fresh assault that nearly tipped him over the edge. He gasped, struggling to draw enough breath, his mental balance shivering right on the edge of breaking. When someone knelt, holding out a hand, he reached out, instinctively, desperately. At first, it was almost worse, as the person’s emotions hit him even harder. Then he was yanked up into a hug, relief and joy wrapping around him just as firmly as the man’s arms.

“You’re alive,” Wordy choked out, his tears apparent even in his voice. The survivor didn’t respond. He just leaned into that solid support, his ‘team sense’ finally settling down a little. At first, he _couldn’t_ respond; his mind was half-shredded. Tremors ran up and down his back, his hearing was still much too ‘high’; the rain outside sounded more like hail to him; and his team’s emotions were coursing through him, one right after another. He panted, struggling to regain a semblance of self, of control. It seemed to take forever, but as his team settled down, the chaotic flood and churning in his mind and soul also slowed and faded, though it never stopped.

When he felt a bit more steady, he looked down at Auror Wilkins, sorrow in his face. “Yeah, Wordy; I’m alive. Thanks to Brian.”

The rest of the team stilled, following his gaze. Sprawled on the ground, Auror Brian Wilkins lay still, his victory apparent in the very much alive Sergeant Gregory Parker. After several moments, Wordy helped the unsteady Sergeant to his feet. Once back on his feet, Greg offered the fallen Auror a single, solemn salute. His team followed suit. Though they had their precious, irreplaceable Sergeant, his survival had come at a terrible cost.

* * * * *

Six somber black and gray clothed Aurors looked up at Madame Locksley’s arrival. Silence hung in the air, horrified and disbelieving. Above them, the door in midair creaked, still swaying to and fro. Outside, thunder boomed, lightning flashing. The subjects lay in the middle of the room, cuffed and blood pooling around their bodies, but they went largely unnoticed. Instead, Madame Locksley’s eyes fixed on the still, shrouded form near the back wall. For a long minute, she stared, too shocked to move or speak.

“Why?” she whispered, grief in her voice, anguish in her posture. She whirled upon her Aurors, eyes flashing. “You were supposed to prevent this!”

Sergeant Parker cringed at her accusation. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She knew she was being unfair even as she said it, her emotions running high, “Sorry doesn’t bring him back.”

The rest of her Aurors stirred, unhappy with her attack on their Sergeant. Lane stepped forward, demanding her attention with sharp blue eyes. “He knew the risks, ma’am. We all do. We all know every call could be our last. We accept that risk every time we get a call. Don’t blame us or him, blame _them_ ,” he jerked his head toward the cuffed bodies as he finished.

She knew that, understood it in her head, but her heart was screaming its outrage and grief. “Go,” she whispered, turning back toward Wilkins’ – oh, Merlin, no – far too still form. “Just go,” she managed, her voice breaking. She heard them leaving, their boots echoing a little in the warehouse. She herself walked to Wilkins’ side, kneeling and drawing back the sheet. Locksley’s head bowed, though tears refused to come. “I’m sorry.”

He’d never been her _best_ Auror, but he’d been a good man, a skilled Auror. Sergeant Parker might have been the one to propose letting Muggle law enforcement work magic-side, but Wilkins had been the one to first accept it, to give Parker’s team that one foolish and incredible chance. Locksley ran her hand over her Auror’s silver hair, closed the clouded eyes. Then she finally wept.

No one heard the furious screech of the dark figure in the storm; its final goal for the mayhem thwarted by a willing sacrifice.


	7. Thy Will Be Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th of July from _Anno Domini_ 2017, ya'll! More notes at the end, so, without any further ado: Enjoy.

The day of the funeral dawned gray and stormy. Rain fell on the mourners, black robed and grieving. The casket, silver, gray, and white, was draped with the flag of the Auror Division and sat under a small tent, rain dripping off the canopy. Lord Wilkins, leading the mourning party, stiffened in outrage as Madame Locksley arrived, seven _Muggles_ in tow. The Muggles wore formal uniforms, each one wearing a cover; they made, the lord admitted to himself, an impressive and dignified sight. The two young wizards in the midst of the Muggles went unnoticed, at least at first.

The lord growled, glaring at the newcomers. “You are not welcome here, Muggles. My son may have been fascinated with your kind, but I am not. Because of you, my son is dead; leave us in peace.”

“Lord Wilkins,” a boyish voice replied, speaking before any of the adults could. “The House of Calvin grieves the death of Auror Brian Wilkins. But our cousin and his team are not responsible for the actions of Dark Wizards, who, if memory serves, murdered nineteen people. They were stopped, in part, by your son’s valiant efforts; the officers of the Strategic Response Unit could not have done it without him.” Those statements lingered several moments before the lad asked, in a far gentler tone, “Tell me, Lord Wilkins, are Auror Wilkins’ coworkers here?”

Lord Wilkins turned his glare on the lad in black dress robes cut in the style of the Old Lords, his sapphire eyes boring into the older man’s eyes. Beside him, his sister, dressed in similar robes, gave him an indignant look. He understood the point the boy was trying to make but, “If these Muggles had been _Obliviated_ immediately, this never would have happened,” he snapped.

The boy’s eyes flashed, his chin rising. “Or maybe it still would have, Lord Wilkins. Maybe even more people would have died before the Aurors stopped those Dark Wizards. Don’t dishonor your son’s sacrifice by barring those he served beside from his funeral.”

Lord Wilkins growled, very softly. But to argue further would attract far too much attention, so he inclined his head and permitted the group to proceed. The Muggles did not offer their hands, though that likely had something to do with the lethal glare he gave them. They did, however, move down to the coffin; each one offered the coffin a formal salute. The grieving father looked away.

When the funeral started, Lord Wilkins swept to his wife’s side, his head high; his wife wept quietly into her handkerchief. A senior Ministry official took his place at the front, beginning the service by calling upon Dagda **(5)** and invoking that god’s blessing. Sounding rather stiff, he spoke of Brian’s many achievements in service, but nothing about the man or the son he had been. When the official stepped down, Madame Locksley swept forward, her back straight, bearing formal.

She faced the audience, placing her notes on the podium. “Every Auror,” she began, “knows the risk they take every time they enter the field. We are taught, as rookie Aurors, that any criminal we apprehend could be a threat. Any criminal we pursue might decide to use lethal force to escape capture. This risk, this threat, is one we accept so that others do not have to. But there is a price to pay for such heroism, a cost no rookie understands.” Lord Wilkins noticed that her gaze fell on the Muggles, who looked back, stiff with tension the old lord did not understand.

“We see the worst of humanity,” Locksley continued, “The, as Brian himself once reminded me, worst twenty minutes of other peoples’ lives. I regret the price Brian paid for doing his job, for saving lives. But I will _never_ regret the man Brian was, the choices he made, or the actions he took. The good he did will live on; the choices he made will live on. He may be gone, but we will not forget him or his contribution.”

Madame Locksley paused, considering her audience. “Brian and I joined the Division in the same year; we united as the ‘rookie’ Aurors on the job. Over the years, we climbed the ranks together, trading more than a few jibes with each other along the way. I had a knack for leading squads, he had a knack for innovative solutions. I’ll never forget the day he came in and told me he’d caught a serial thief by persuading a shop owner to apply _Finite_ -proof, time-delayed Color Change Charms to his merchandise.” The audience chuckled, most of them remembering the incident.

Locksley drew a deep breath, steeling herself, “But if I had to select one of Brian’s best decisions, one of his best choices, I’d have to pick the one no one, including me, believed in at first. Bringing a Muggle police unit into the Auror Division.” The murmurs turned disapproving; the speaker cut them off. “Many of you have voiced the opinion that Brian died because he was with non-magical Aurors, mere ‘Muggles’ who should never have been in our world to begin with.” The audience as a whole drew back at the masked venom in her words. Most of them had, indeed, said that. With a true bite to her tone, Locksley said, “None of you seem to realize that Brian _chose_ to be with them the day he died; _chose_ months before to be my division’s official liaison to the Strategic Response Unit; even _chose_ to give them a chance to _be_ Aurors. To banish these men and women now is an insult to Brian’s memory, an insult I refuse to make.”

Lord Wilkins allowed a low growl of anger to escape. Why she felt she had to bring this up now… “In fact, Brian’s final request in his division file was that Team One be his pallbearers, a request Team One agreed to.” She ignored Lord Wilkins’ sputtering indignation and outrage; the Muggles did likewise as they rose and moved into position around the casket. They lifted the casket as the procession to the graveside began. In the back, a bagpiper played “Flowers of the Forest,” the somber notes rising in salute to the fallen Auror. His son’s fellow Aurors, positioned nearby, in the rain and along the procession path, raised their wands, letting off explosive blasts; a tradition, Lord Wilkins learned later, from Muggle police funerals.

The elderly wizard stared at the Muggles carrying his son’s casket, three on each side and the last one in front; they bore the casket with no evidence of strain or struggle. When the procession reached the burial plot, the pallbearers lifted the casket up higher, placing it on the magical lowering device. The man in front and one of the pallbearers, a tall, bald man, positioned themselves at each end of the casket. The flag was gently removed and folded by both men, never once touching the ground. The children approached, carrying an odd wooden box shaped like a triangle. Once the flag was folded, the stocky, pepper-haired man brought it to Lord Wilkins and his wife. Lord Wilkins drew back, insulted by the Muggle’s mere presence; his wife, though, reached out with trembling hands to take the flag. The flag was gently laid in her arms, Brian’s badge and his posthumous Order of Merlin, 3rd Class resting on top. The two children offered the box; Lord Wilkins could now see that it was for the flag. As his wife clutched the flag to her chest and the Muggles saluted the casket one last time, it was lowered slowly into the ground. When the top vanished from sight, Lord Wilkins felt a solitary tear slip down his face. It was over; his son was gone, forever.

* * * * *

He launched at Sergeant Parker even as the hated curse was spoken, raw determination flaring, his magic practically _screaming_ its defiance of the Dark Wizard’s spell. He registered hitting Parker, the two of them flying back at the wall; registered striking the wall for the merest instant, then nothing.

He was standing on a plain, the sun above, the grass around him stretching out in either direction. He could hear the sound of a waterfall nearby, could see, in the distance, the towers of a castle, could even smell a faint sea air. The wind brushed at him, playing with his hair; all the aches and pains that came after over fifty years of life vanished as if they’d never been. He laughed, the sound ringing out, almost dancing around him. The land around him was more than anything he’d ever seen before, more there, more _real_. He turned in a slow circle, taking in everything with wide eyes, joy and delight rising with every new thing he saw. He turned further, and stopped, stepping back. A Lion was standing there, watching him. He felt both awe and terror at the sight of the Lion, his knees trembling. He knelt, feeling as if the Lion deserved that and more from him.

A moment later he felt the Lion touch his forehead, the Lion rumbling, “Welcome, Son of Adam.”

“W-who are you?” he managed, not daring to look up yet.

“Myself,” the Lion replied, his low, deep voice making the ground tremble. The kneeling man peeked up to see the Lion shake His head, that magnificent mane flying. “Myself,” loud, clear, full of joy. And a third time, “Myself,” so soft that the man could hardly hear it.

But the man trembled; he knew, all too well, that he had never followed the great Lion before him. No, he had followed another…a pale, cheap imitation of the Lion…he saw that now…far too late. “I am not yours, Lord,” he confessed, dropping his eyes to the ground as shame welled up.

The Lion’s low rumble made the man look up again. “Peace, Son of Adam,” the Lion said. “All service you have done to Dagda, I account as service done to Me.”

Confused, the man drew back. “I don’t understand.”

Another rumble, this one of amusement. “Come, Son of Adam, and walk with Me.” The two walked, towards the waterfall the man had heard earlier, and the man gathered enough courage to place his hand on the Lion’s mane. At length, the Lion spoke again. “Son of Adam, understand that all who come to My Father come through Me. I AM the way and the truth and the life **(6)**.”

The Lion’s head turned towards his listener; each word resounded in the air as He spoke. “No service which is vile can be done to Me and none which is not vile can be done to Tash, or Dagda, for they are one and the same. Therefore, if any man swear by Dagda and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by Me that he has truly sworn, though he knows it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in My Name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Dagda whom he serves and by Dagda his deed is accepted. Do you understand, Son of Adam?”

The man considered the Lion’s words. “So…my mother and father?” he began tentatively.

The Lion growled low, cutting off the question. “Son of Adam, I am telling your story, not theirs. I tell no one any story but his own.”

And the man knew, without asking, that nothing would change the Lion’s mind on the issue. So he asked the other question on his mind and in his heart. “How can You accept me, when I have worshiped Dagda all my life?”

A chuckle came from the Lion, those deep, fathomless golden eyes turning to the man. “Son of Adam, unless your heart had been for Me, you would not have sought so long and so truly. All find what they truly seek.”

As He spoke, a fiery brightness gathered around Him, swirling with a glory the man had never seen before. When He finished, the brightness and glory rolled together and the Lion vanished. For a moment, the man wondered if it had all been a dream, then he saw the Lion’s pawprints in the ground beside him. Water filled the prints as he watched, and his eyes went wide with renewed awe.

His hair, which had turned silver many years before, was now a full, rich brown hue. Brian Wilkins looked up, breathing in the air of this place, which now seemed even more real than it had before. He had come home at last, to his real country. Brian turned, looking up at the waterfall, a considering look in his eyes. Then he laughed and plunged into the water, going further up and further in.

* * * * *

Far away from both Aslan’s Country and the Shadowlands, a figure lurking in a cave cursed to itself. It raged furiously and fruitlessly against the great _cat_ , the great _cat’s_ Father – the Emperor-beyond-the-sea – and the human _fool_ who had thwarted its plans. A willing sacrifice, the figure sneered at the very thought. And worse, the great _cat_ had warned it away from further direct attacks against the Wild Mages’ guardian. It dared not disobey the _cat_ , things might arise most unpleasant if it did.

After a time the creature’s rage died down, settling into embers which were no less dangerous; indeed, the embers of its rage were perhaps _more_ dangerous than the fire had been. A direct assault was out of the question, for now, unless it could persuade the Emperor-beyond-the-sea to allow a testing, but an _indirect_ assault, yes, that could work. And better, perhaps it could also bring down more than _just_ the guardian and his rag-tag sycophants. The guardian, it was confident, could not long survive if he lost one of his anchors; it had insured such when it had…adjusted…the guardian’s meager gifts.

Darkness and a chill wind swirled around the creature as it laughed, the sound vile, terrible, and grating. Even the rats fled from the sound; above the cave, thunder rolled, lightning crashing.

 

_~ Fin_

 

[5] Celtic god of magic, time, and crops

[6] Paraphrase of John 14:6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may be curious about Brian's acceptance into Aslan's Country, after all he's not a Narnian or a Christian. His acceptance and indeed, Aslan's speech are not without precedence; in **The Last Battle** , Aslan accepts a young Calormene named Emeth even though Emeth has served Tash all his life. Most of Aslan's speech to Brian actually comes straight from his speech to Emeth. As to C.S. Lewis's view on non-Christians becoming Christian after death, I found an article on the Christian Research Institute website to be very informative. "C.S. Lewis on Hell" by Louis Markos. Check it out, as I said, it's very interesting.
> 
> I do believe exactly what I wrote; that said, I understand that most people do not agree. As I also believe that we can agree to disagree, please, go with that rather than flaming me. Just remember, *evil grin*, all flames will be fed to my Death Knight's Netherwing (and she's hungry).
> 
> On a more personal note, I thank my very few commenters for their comments on my series. And while I'm not trying to guilt-trip anyone, I am a tad disappointed that more readers aren't willing to at least drop a 'I enjoyed it' note from time to time. But that's probably the consequence of my unusual (to say the least) blending of several worlds. I'll get over it.
> 
> Anyway, coming this Friday, July 7th, 2017 to a computer screen near you will be our next story: "It's Gonna Be Okay".
> 
> Thanks for reading and enjoy your American Independence Day all!


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